Happy Sunshine

How many ponies have heard the phrase 'I'm fine' at any point in their lifetime.

They always say they're fine. No matter what they go through, somepony will always say 'I'm fine.' They could be burned till their skin is crispy or stuffed full of buckshot and all they'd say is 'I'm fine.' That was today's generation of ponies. They'd rather live their whole lives covering their wounds than showing one inkling of dependency. Because that's all society dictated. It's all their friends or family ever did; they told them to get out of the house and go make friends or, a classic response was 'get over it'.

Sadly, two months ago, Equestria knew nothing about depression. It was just a myth. Just a legend. If anypony off the street felt down, they would never call themselves 'depressed.' It would be that somepony was sad, or at the very best, sorrowful. It was never that severe. I didn't have any problem cheering anypony up. For a time, it was controllable. It was a steady, minor outbreak that was managed in buckets of ice cream and soft hugs.

It was ten thirty military time when my first patient came in. She was a wreck of a pony. Her eyes were swollen and red with something like crusted mucus and loose tears. I never asked why she was crying. It didn't seem right to ask when my first, professional client was stumbling into my office choking on her own sobs.

Her name was Cloudchaser, I later learned over a solo Lethargy-on-the-rocks. I offered Cloudchaser a sip or two, but she said she tried it a week ago. It didn't taste right to her, Cloudchaser explained, laying right down on my fainting couch. Something in it left a bad taste in her mouth. And that was right, because the vitamin d and anti-depressants that made Lethargy what it was, would've turned her tastebuds off. Because that's what depression did. It made happiness something to push away. I asked her what it tasted like to her, to which she replied 'it tastes like ashes.' And I knew she'd been right to come to my office.

"Depression is a stalwart illness," I explained to her, jotting notes down on my clipboard, keeping uniform unlike the other doctorates in the building.

"I've been informed that you already have a hard time eating and you've been showing signs of an eating disorder... Can you tell me why you don't like the taste of Lethargy. Does it remind you of something that happened during your life, even?" I asked, wholly attentive as she looked up with watery roses and sniffled lightly.

"Yes... I-I can. It tastes wrong. It doesn't taste bad but I don't like it. It's sweet and it makes me warm inside, but I can't stand that. I stopped eating because- I-I don't know, because it doesn't feel right. When I drink Lethargy or e-eat anything I-I liked before it's just... bland."

I watched her eyes glaze when she started piecing something together. A subtle breeze blew in from my window and she broke away from her sudden trance. Cloudchaser was a fit, healthy young pegasus that had no physical shortcomings or ailments. But, it was clear to me that she was mentally ill in some manner of speaking. Her next statement kept my eyes low with empathy.

"I... remember how good it used to taste. When grandma brought home her morcilla after work, I... I would always enjoy the way it stuck to my tongue. It was just good food. It made me happy. Do- do you know how it feels, doc, to get out of training camp and hear that the only pony in your family that gave a shit about you is gone?"

Her nostrils grew stuffy and all she could do was wipe it away with tissue. There were no words between us but the ones brooding inside us. In our heads. In our chests. They were swarms of busy bees assembling a hive from spare calcium structures. And each time they salvaged from our bare bones they took a piece away from us. I watched Cloudchaser pick herself apart and collapse into tears. She was no athlete when her grandmother passed away.

No.

She was a living, breathing person.

I prescribed her anti-psychotics, some 180mg of anti-depressants and some blood-thinners in-case she suffered any... injuries later on. I knew exactly how ponies got when they were alone and empty. They always thought of the pain. And that's why, sometimes, others called them selfish. Because they never seemed to care about all the people hurting with them. But it wasn't their fault. They were ponies just like us. And they were thrown into danger with only their wits and reminders of how to hurt. They didn't focus on themselves because they were horrible people. They were just trying to survive, so they drowned everybody else that tried to save them, thrashing about the deepest end of the ocean.

I heard her sniffle one more time after I explained to her the behavior of a depressed individual. Cloudchaser wept in front of me with wide, open eyes. Through her face came a smile when I suggested she try planning a get-together with her closest friends every weekend. To keep them around to do friendly sports and low-stress activities like walking around town or, just by suggestion, travelling.

It wasn't perfect. And I wasn't paid to suggest what she should do to combat the depression. But everything I told her helped my sportier clients deal with their sorrows. The fit would exercise and feel better. And the depressed needed to move. Whether it be forward or backward, was up to them.

"Cloudchaser... I want you to remember something. And promise me you'll never forget this. Okay?" I started, jotting down her prescription details.

"Y-yes, doc? Anything."

I glanced her way and met eyes with her, before tearing her slip carefully away.

"You're not alone. And you never will be. The first step towards getting help... is telling someone. And if you don't find help, tell everyone you can until someone listens. Then, spend time with them. Whenever you can, just try and enjoy the fact that someone cares enough to listen. If you do that- if everyone did that, we'd all be a lot happier."

Cloudchaser gave me a big, strong hug. And it nearly broke my back. A crooked smile worked over my lips and I decided to hold her back. Because it was good to be me. It was good to see Cloudchaser with hope in her eyes. The moment she walked out of my office, I took a sip of Lethargy on the rocks, it's dull shine inviting and illustrious. It was when I ingested my first few gulps that the buzzer rang. In stepped a familiar mare and I nearly dropped my glass.

"... Pinkie Pie?" I blurted out in somber shock.

"Hehe, yeah... Yeah, it's me, Luna." She replied, flopping down on the fainting couch.

"It's hot as hell outside." Pinkie whispered, closing her eyes without a drop of sweat on her.

"You're not sweating at all." I noted, circling the glass around and watching the red hues dance over ice.

A stray, fluffy sigh slipped my way and I almost wondered who's it was. Pinkie had never sighed in front of me ever. And it wasn't a normal, slow exhale. It was barely audible. Her expression was both glum and curiously scrunched together, as if something were literally eating away at her. I could feel the heavy, gnashing teeth of depression chipping away at her. Pinkamena, because I often thought of her with her birthname, tossed about her long, flowing mane and watched the window. Her eyelids were anchored in sleepy weight. And they stayed motionless, like her eyes.

"I probably cried my body dry. I dunno. Look, can we get this started. I'm tired and I'm tired of crying. Let's talk about what makes me a mess so you can give me pills and I can feel like a person again."